


Wider, Baby, Smile and You've Just Made a Million (Girls on Film)

by Satan In Purple (purple_satan)



Series: Kylux Short Fics/Drabbles [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bala-Tik More Like Baller Dick Amirite?, Filth Just Plain Filth, Got the Whole Squad Up in This Joint, Hux is a Dirty Little Slut, I Would Tell Anything to Kanjiklub to Make Alania Happy, Kylo is Also a Dirty Little Slut But We'll Get to That Later, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Public Blow Jobs, Stripper!Hux, This is My Lot in Life, Unnecissary Feminization of a Character, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:31:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_satan/pseuds/Satan%20In%20Purple
Summary: Kylo tries to find dirt on the squeaky clean General Hux and enlists the help of the Guavian Death Gang leader to assist him. The results are... unexpected, to say the least.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alania/gifts), [brittlelimbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittlelimbs/gifts).



> I am trash. It is my lot in life. This is as much inspired by [Mindless Self Indulgence's cover of "Girls on Film"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4kYPrvoE3c), as it is [Viella's beautiful artwork that SLAYED ME](http://viella-art.tumblr.com/post/149043175198/all-complaints-about-these-pictures-may-be), as it is late night convos in Reylux chat with Alania and brittlelimbs. I love everyone in fandom and regret nothing.
> 
> #BukkakeHux2k16

 

 

_You have a new message, Commander!_

How he ends up with his helmet off, peering at the grainy footage of a video sent to him is not particularly important. What is important is that Kylo Ren now _finally_ has firepower in which to launch at the incredibly uptight, squeaky clean General Hux he feels like he has been waiting a lifetime for. Five solid years of posturing and one-upmanship, always ending up on the bottom now soon coming to an end.

Hux better be prepared for the dressing down of a lifetime.

The insistent ping of his messages finally get his attention from watching Hux through the hacked security feed in his room. Because despite Kylo’s very thorough search coming back empty, the pirate he hired somehow actually pulled through.

He isn't quite sure what to expect after his contact gets back to him, other than bless the bastard space scum, because he messages him with not just a photo, but a full thirteen minute vid in response. And whatever it is has to be more interesting than what he has now; boring security feeds of Hux drinking caf and scrolling through datapad after datapad. Tasks punctuated by his occasional scratching of his only slightly illicit and very fluffy cat, Millicent, under the chin. Hux lives a very boring life as a general. A very _repressed_ , boring life.

_You have a new message, Commander!_

The footage is grainy, distorted with age and low-quality recording. He turns the audio on and can hear the noisy hubbub of a bar, the type with rowdy banter in multiple languages and glasses clinking. The loud thump of the bass of a song drowning out anything but the loudest chatter. Random footage of the bar is interrupted by a twi'lek with bells dangling from her lekku as she enters the screen, topless. She offers the person recording a drink from a tray precariously balanced on her left hip. The person accepts, tossing what looks to be a trugut and a few wupiupi onto her tray.

The currency means one of two places where the bar is likely located: Hutt Space or the Outer Rim. He tries to see if the bar’s name is on any of the glaring neon signs in aurebesh, but only manages to find flashing ads for popular brands of Ergesh rum and juma juice as the recording makes its way from the entrance to the center of the room. Various different types of aliens are on display as dancers, some in cages, others on poles. Most are twi'lek, but there are a few humans. A togruta and cathar female round out the ranks. All are scantily clad and disinterestedly interacting with the patrons to varying degrees.

He isn’t sure yet why this bit is important. What an officer, even a commanding officer, does during his shore leave in a strip club in the Outer Rim is hardly of any concern. And while placing the rather straight-laced general in a bar seems out of character, it’s not salacious by any means. Nor is it worth the amount of credits or effort he put out to find something incriminating.

He’s about to turn off the recording, give up on his futile search to piss Hux off and instead go destroy another section of the ship-- because _he obviously got swindled by that no-good, lying sack of bantha shit pirate--_ when the camera loses its steadiness. The picture zooms in on one of the dancers and the image becomes even grainier, but he can see what appears to be either a human male or female. With their back facing the camera, it's hard to tell. When they turn around, their very modest chest is covered by a black corset, white fabric ruched in rows on the front. The dancer’s light hair and pale limbs are illuminated by the neon lights and lanky enough to not give any indication of gender. As they sway to the bar’s music and twirl fluidly around the pole, it's obvious it's with the grace of someone well practiced.

The dancer pulls off a black glove and tosses it to the crowd that earns a few wolf-whistles and a handful of dull coins tossed on the stage. Continuing their routine, they dutifully shed the other glove. They tease, but it’s obvious they will be keeping on the corset, as well as the dangerous looking black heels and stockings during their performance.

As the throng around the dancer grows more frantic and humming with energy, they keep prowling the stage, slinking across and up and down the pole. One patron manages to lean forward far enough to get in a pinch on the dancer’s small ass, but not before getting a harshly kicked heel to the chest that knocks him backwards _hard._ He topples into an unforgiving crowd that swallows him whole; the action only earning the dancer more whoops and hollers.

The dancer tosses their hair, face obscured by a mop of light shaggy hair finally revealed to the camera. It’s only a few frames, but Kylo manages to catch nearly colorless pale eyes  in the crappy recording, the bow of pouty pink lips darkened because of lipstick. He rewinds the vid and notices strawberry blonde hair instead of the darker auburn he is so familiar with.

Kylo lets out a whoosh of breath, of recognition, as his cock twitches in his pants--

And then the video cuts out.   

 

\--

 

Obtaining subsequent footage of the same bar costs an exorbitant amount of credits, takes far too long to arrive for him to be truly happy. He’d be mad at how badly he was getting played by the pirate if he didn’t know just how valuable and damning the information was. Being one of the few men aware of the commander’s little shore leave hobby when he was younger will certainly have its perks. What that vid could do to the general's career now brings a barely contained, vicious smile to his lips.

He tries to imagine Hux’s supercilious smirk dissolving once confronted. But the scene morphs into Hux standing in front of him, waist cinched into a deliciously unnatural hourglass, voice breathy as he tries to explain himself. Fails. How he would place a hand in Hux's hair, mussing it so the hold the pomade has on it gives and it falls out of place, flopping gently  over one eye again. How he would trace Hux’s painted red lips with a leather clad finger. Shove the worn leather into his mouth, stifling any more excuses.

This time he makes sure his quarters are locked. He quickly strips down to his pants, already palming his half-hard cock that has been aching at the thought of the sinuous dancing of younger Hux, with his soft hair and small compact muscles. The lean physique he now keeps hidden rigidly under his First Order uniform. The smattering of freckles on his arms and chest he hides every day underneath all those layers that are practically criminal in their perfection. The way they delicately paint his cream colored skin, instead of the strange stippling of dark marks Kylo has dotting his own body.

He’s hard by the time he queues up the vid, the drawstring waistband of his pants pushed underneath his erect cock and balls. Now freely exposed, he licks his palm wetly. Wraps a spit-slicked hand around the length of his cock as he watches the grainy footage start again.

Hux is wrapped in a furry white jacket, hair obscuring one pale eye and sporting a rather dark bruise hastily covered with concealer. His lip is curled in a very familiar sneer as he looks directly at the camera. “No recordings,” he says as he puts a hand up to obscure the lens, Imperial accent sloppier than Kylo has ever heard.

The screen goes black for a moment, but the audio continues.

“Listen ‘ere, we paid a fair amount for a good time,” a man with a thick brogue replies with a laugh, stretching the syllables of the words into a salacious purr. “How much’ll do ya to continue, captain?”

He can practically hear Hux stiffen at the use of his title. Blackmail?

“I want credits, none of this Hutt crap. 50 thousand will suffice.”

“Ya pretty, pretentious slut. But ya ain’t worth no karkin’ 50 thou even with ya legs spread wide an’ covered in me’n me mates jizz.”

“10 thousand, and _only_ what we discussed,” Hux amends. “Don’t push your luck further, Tik. Or I’ll ram this stiletto so far up your ass you’ll be chewing on it even after security boots you out.”

The footage reappears, with Hux sitting down in a small room and a cigarra dangling from his cherry red lips. Kylo can see the shadows of other men around him, probably the entirety of the Guavian Death Gang at the time from the look of it. But the main focus is Hux in the center of the room, sitting primly on an overstuffed pink ottoman and blowing out rings of smoke with a smirk. The furry jacket falls from one shoulder, exposing freckled skin and a sliver of the same black and white corset from the previous vid. His soft hair is long enough not combed back that it falls into his face again. He flicks it back before taking another long drag off the cigarra.

Kylo languidly palms his cock, stroking his length as his thumb brushes from the frenulum to the tip of his cock, weeping precum from its slit. Something flutters in his stomach as he takes in Hux sitting there dolled up, dressed like a common whore, waiting to be debauched. Giving up control and consenting to it.

“Take off the coat, love.”

For being paid to strip, Hux shucks off the jacket far too efficiently to be considered sexy. He folds it into a neat little bundle and places it under the table beside him. “Whatever you do, do _not ruin that jacket,_ ” he admonishes. “As if you and your ilk even know what that fur belonged to.”

He stretches out onto the table lasciviously, propping himself up on his elbows and arching his back as much as the corset will allow. He lifts one long leg into the air, coming to a graceful point, before dropping it.

A few of the other men in the room whistle. One claps.

Bala-Tik says nothing.

“Stockings on or off?” Hux asks, finally.

“On,” Tik replies. “All of it stays on."

"Bet ya like dressin’ up in girly bits, little rimkin slut. Bet you’d suck me off for a lot less if it were just me instead of me’n me mates here waitin’ for your pretty whore mouth.”

One of the men in the shadows yells something indistinguishable that crackles with static into the camera’s tinny mic. Another jeers. Kylo hears the sound of a bottle being opened, the pop of a cork echoing in the tiny room crammed full of bodies. The camera moves out of focus for a moment and he hears Tik take a slug of whatever was opened, sees the bottle in front of the camera before he drops it to his side.

“C’mere,” Bala-Tik says, crooking a finger and  beckoning Hux over.

He obeys, crawling on all fours across the table and down onto the floor to Tik. He rests his hands on creamy white thighs covered in stockings once he reaches Tik. His face is upturned to the camera, expression shuttered and unreadable.

“Give us a smile,” Tik admonishes, zooming the camera to Hux’s face. The smile Hux gives the camera is razor sharp, the edge of a blade flashed quickly before buried in its target. Eyes flinty, Hux drops his parody of a polite smile as Tik brushes his hair out of his face. His thumb comes up to press the pad of it into Hux’s mouth, smearing red lipstick down his chin as he retreats. “Mmmmm, there we go.”

Now zoomed in Kylo can see exactly how dark the the ring of bruises around Hux’s eye and cheekbone are, wonders about the story of how they got there. If someone roughed him up at work. If they paid to do it and it's _that_ kind of establishment, or if it’s something he received before. Maybe why he’s on shore leave here instead of home or somewhere else, enjoying his time instead of turning tricks in a two-bit huttese bar and brothel.

He realizes in that moment that for being a mind reader and being around Hux for so long, there’s a lot he doesn’t know about his co-commander and clearly didn't care to find out past petty revenge. How he can see clearly the smudge of eyeshadow Hux rubbed at earlier and then fixed. How different he looks, smokey eyelids and eyelashes dark with mascara he applied himself with an unsteady hand. How his cherry red lipstick clashes with the color of his hair and is the type that’s easily smudged from the bow of his lips.

He looks put together, but only barely. Once you start really noticing, the charade falls apart.

“Drink,” Tik says as he pours the bottle with little care whether it lands in Hux’s mouth or down the front of him.

He watches as Hux tamps down a grimace. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows whatever the clear contents of the bottle were.

By the time the bottle is empty, the front of Hux’s corset is near-transparent. The little ruched rows of fabric flattened and almost light enough to show off the duskier skin of his nipples. It’s a sight Kylo isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to get out of his mind, nor does he ever want to leave. Wishing it was him the general was in front of, face upturned and painted lips slack for. Wishing he was the one Hux was waiting for instructions from.

He'd be good to him, better than Bala-Tik.

(And since when did he want to play nicely with Hux? Hux, the perpetually sneering, insufferable, pain in his ass. Hux the older child vying for attention by constantly trying to out-do Kylo. Since when did he want anything other than pain for him?)

Kylo snaps out of his musings as he hears the jingle of a belt buckle, the sound of a zipper being pulled down. The camera shakes before steadying itself, slightly out of focus and now pointed down so that its zoomed in on the top of Hux’s red hair. Tik takes a moment to adjust it, before the picture comes back into focus and his cock is fully out and on display.

Hux takes the length of cock into his mouth, easily. He leaves his hands on his thighs, swallowing until his nose is buried in Tik’s coarse curls at the base. Showing off.

This continues for some time, only the lewd sounds of Hux’s hollowed cheeks, of his head bobbing as he’s sucking Tik off. Tik’s groans of enjoyment are punctuated by the occasional off-camera grunt of approval at the scene from one of the red-clad gang members.

Hux stops for a moment and someone else from the gang steps forward, pours more of the liquid between the two of them. It wets Tik’s jacket, splashes off his dick. Hux squeezes his eyes shut and presses forward as he continues, the front of his hair darkening and plastering to his face.

“Military sluts are such good cocksuckers,” Tik groans, taking a fistful of Hux’s hair. “Wonder if they teach that in basic or if you’re really worth the fuckin' price, you little wannabe-posh, Outer Rim _slut._ ”

He shoves hard this time, gagging Hux on his cock hard enough tears well up in the corner of his eyes. When Hux’s pale eyes finally open and flick up to the camera, his expression is murderous, but if anything it only fuels Tik's climb to orgasm more. He groans again, spilling into Hux's mouth. A tiny bit escapes the corner Hux wipes off with distaste as Tik pulls his now spent cock out of his mouth, shiny with spit and smeared with bits of red lipstick at the base. Tucks it back into his pants as Hux leans back, supporting his weight on his palms.

Kylo speeds up his hand on his cock as the camera zooms back in on Hux’s face, mascara tracks smudged on his cheeks, lipstick staining his chin. He looks directly, unflinchingly, at the camera. Gives Tik a stare that would spell a painful death to anyone in any other situation.

Kylo freezes the recording and comes harder than he remembers ever having done before, legs spasming and spilling thick spurts of cum into his hand as he's staring at Hux’s stony expression frozen in the vid like a moment trapped in amber. Hux's ruined face looks  directly into the camera like he’s staring into the viewer’s soul, Kylo's soul.

After a few fortifying breaths to compose himself again, he wipes his sticky hand off onto his cloak, balls it up and throws it in the corner of the room for the droids to pick up for laundry. He hits the button to continue the vid, checking the recording's length to see if that's it.

There’s still about a half an hour’s worth of footage left.

Kylo lets out an almost dreamy sigh, flops over in his bed and immediately falls asleep, trying not to think of exactly how he’s going to manage if he runs into Hux with this new information.

**Author's Note:**

> for more kylux hell, weird ass writing shit and fandom wank until next chapter posts, follow me on tumblr @ [purple-satan-fic](http://purple-satan-fic.tumblr.com/)!


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